


Caught in the Rain

by kisssanitygoodbye



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver and Fenris are seeking shelter from the rain, Carver might have a crush, and Fenris might be even more perceptive than Carver had always assumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for yarnandteaisallineed on tumblr :)

“We could be back in Kirkwall by now.”

Fenris’ voice is unnaturally loud in the mouth of the cave they’re using as shelter, the low growl reverberating off the thick stone walls and making the elf seem so much bigger, so much more _present_ , which is funny, considering how he is always the one trying not to draw attention to himself.

Carver snorts, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yes. And we’d be soaked through.”

With a quiet huff, Fenris averts his eyes from the cave entrance and the heavy rain and turns around, and Carver is once again amazed at the elf’s ability to move without making a sound. “Damp clothes have the tendency to dry after a while. I have yet to hear a story about rain killing anyone.”

“Did I say that it would kill me? I’m just… it’s the end of the bloody world out there, and in case you haven’t noticed, our clothes are already damp.”

“Exactly. It would make no difference if we went out now, but it would aggravate your injury.”

“What?” Carver hates how thin his voice sounds, but he didn’t expect Fenris to… bloody hell, that elf is way too perceptive. And now his eyes are boring into Carver’s and he doesn’t know what to do. Maker, that’s embarrassing. And funny, because the reason why Carver hasn’t told Fenris about the pain is that it would have been… well, embarrassing. But really, who gets hurt during sparring?

Fenris raises an eyebrow, and Carver has the suspicion that he’s trying not to smile. “I’ve seen you walk, and it wasn’t hard to notice.” And suddenly there are green eyes right in front of him. “Ignoring an injury is foolish, Hawke.”

And Carver doesn’t know if he should be upset about the  _foolish_ , or surprised about the  _Hawke_.  _Noone_  calls him Hawke. “Yes, well, I…”

“Sit down.”

“What?”

If Fenris wasn’t smiling before—it’s always hard to tell—he definitely is now. “I’m going to examine it.”

So Carver lowers himself onto the ground, albeit grudgingly. It’s not like he’ll  _die_  from the pain anytime soon, and he’s not bleeding, so that’s really not…  
He hisses in pain when Fenris crouches down beside him and takes off Carver’s left boot.

“My apologies,” Fenris murmurs as he carefully lifts Carver’s foot, and Carver is surprised by how gentle Fenris’ hands are if he wants them to be.

“It’s… fine.” It really is, even though he’s feeling terribly self-conscious. He probably smells like wet dog right now, and Fenris  _never_ does. Wine, sometimes. Apples. Or just… Fenris; Carver has never been good at describing things.

“Where does it hurt?”

Why are these big, green eyes so distracting? “Ankle. I think I briefly lost my footing while we were practising defensive tactics.”

Fenris nods before running his hands over Carver’s lower leg, and it doesn’t hurt at all until he takes his foot into both of his hands and squeezes.

“Maker’s balls! That hurt!”

He frowns when he hears Fenris’ chuckle. “It seems to be sprained. Nothing elfroot and rest can’t cure.”

“How do you know that?”

“What?” Judging by his knit brows, Fenris is genuinely confused, and the look suits him; It gets rid of the ghosts in his eyes. And with that, he thinks, Carver has just proven why he will never become a poet, or a storyteller like Varric.

“How do you know all those things?”, Carver asks, taking the boot Fenris is handing back to him. “About healing, and poisonous plants and everything.”

Fenris makes a noise deep in his throat, and Carver thinks that this might be another one of those You-Ask-Too-Many-Foolish-Questions-So-I’m-Not-Going-To-Answer moments, but then Fenris opens his mouth.

“Survival. I spent three years on the run, mostly alone. If I hadn’t known them, I would be dead.”

“Right.” Carver feels the urge to say that he’s sorry, but Fenris doesn’t like people telling him that.

“The rain has stopped,” Fenris says with absolute certainty even though he’s still looking at Carver and not outside, and when Carver lifts his head, he realises that, of course, the elf is right. Fenris never misses anything.

“Well then, time to go back, I think. Or rather  _hobble_ back.”

Fenris straightens himself and reaches out a hand. “You can lean on me if you need to.”

So Carver does when they leave the cave and step out into the cool breeze the rain has left behind.

“I have a few supplies at the mansion.”

After several minutes of silence, Fenris’ remark comes unexpected, and Carver needs a few moments to answer.

“That’s alright, thanks. I think there’s always elfroot at my uncle’s house. In case you haven’t noticed, my brother seems to love getting hurt.”

Fenris makes a sound that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a snort, and Carver tries to remember if he has ever seen Fenris so content over such a long period of time.

“I also have wine. Good wine. Does your uncle’s house provide that too?”

Hm, technically…  _oh_. Is this supposed to be… ? Carver can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he turns away before he speaks. “Well, he doesn’t have Aggregio Pavali, that’s for sure.”

Fenris chuckles  _again_ , and Maker, Carver loves that sound. And of course he says _yes_ , because maybe, if he is lucky, he will hear it again soon.

 


End file.
